


Home For The Holidays

by Fuzzyface



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Character Awfulness, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Family Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-01 00:12:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10910313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fuzzyface/pseuds/Fuzzyface
Summary: A year after callously leaving him on his own financially, Dennis’ parents invite him home for Thanksgiving to check up on how the prodigal son is doing. Rather than smile and play nice at the dinner table, Dennis does what any reasonable person would do: Hire a fake date online in an elaborate scheme to get back on his family’s good side.





	Home For The Holidays

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yaheys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yaheys/gifts).



> Based on this post: https://beachdeath.tumblr.com/post/159262780628 
> 
> I admit I did very much take this prompt and run with it, so while it may not follow the post that inspired it exactly, I do hope it still has the right general idea. This was absurdly fun to write in a lot of ways but I'm very pleased to finally see it done.
> 
> A hundred thousand thanks to my beta, Hannah, for editing this entire monstrosity on very short notice and being the sole reason I didn't have a heart attack about finishing this thing on time

Dennis Reynolds is a victim of circumstance. It’s the only explanation.

He’s been thinking it for a long time, really. Since he was still in college and getting letters bitching at him for his attendance. Since he graduated and the rejection letters from grad school rolled in one by one. Since the third job in a row turned him down. Since the late payment notices started to slip under his apartment door nearly every month.

It comforts him, sometimes, how well he’s doing despite it all. Because at the least, he knows none of this is his fault. It’s his parents’.

It’s cruel, that’s what it is. To support your child for four entire years, pay their bills, pay their meals, pay their fines, and then dump them out on the street as soon as they graduate, without so much as a measly allowance to help them stay on the right track. Bad enough that they made his childhood hell, now they’re trying to ruin his adulthood too.

Still though, Dennis can deal with it. He’s an adult, goddammit, he’s not reliant on anybody anymore. But _this_? This is just insulting.

“What do you mean, they want me to come home?”

“What part of that could you possibly not be understanding?” Dee’s voice comes through the phone like it’s been run through a paper shredder. The abysmal reception is just one more tick on the long list of his shithole apartment’s offenses. “It’s Thanksgiving. Mom and Dad want you over.”

“Mom _and_ Dad?”

Dee snorts. “Yeah, he actually dragged his ass home for once. Can you believe it?”

“I don’t _want_ to,” Dennis glowers out the apartment window at the sheet of gray clouds covering the city. It’d be shit weather for traveling anyway. “They never once invited us home for the holidays when we were at school.”

“Maybe they want to see how the prodigal son has been doing his first year alone,” Dee replies, and Dennis nearly snaps the phone in half at the open mocking in her voice.

“I’ve been doing fantastic, Dee, thanks for asking,” he spits. “Not that I have to do much to be ahead of you. Actually, how’ve you been, sis? You’re living at home at age, what now, 26?”

“We’re the same age, dickhead,” she seethes. He almost feels disappointed when he hears her take a breath to calm herself. “Goddammit, this is exactly why I didn’t want to be the one stuck calling you. Look, I don’t care what you do. Just let me know if you’re coming or not so I can get Mom off my ass about it.”

“Oh, I’ll be there, don’t worry,” Dennis says. He’s still running hot and the words come out between gritted teeth. “I’ll let you all see just how well I’ve been doing.”

“Great,” Dee says, and hangs up before he has the chance to say anything else.

Dennis throws the phone down against the ratty old couch. He storms to the kitchen and slams the fridge door open against the wall, rifling through half-empty takeout containers until he finds one last can of beer in the back. He needs to make a run for more soon, he can’t live in this dump if there’s not even any alcohol.

“I shouldn’t be living here in the first place,” he mutters to himself as he crosses back to the living room, dropping like a deadweight onto the couch. “I’m more accomplished than people _twice_ my age, and what do I get for it? A rat-infested apartment!” He’s talking to himself again, a habit picked up from days on end with no one but himself for company, but he doesn’t care. He cracks the beer open and downs half of it without taking a breath.

What did his parents want from him, anyway? To see him in a suit and tie smiling and telling them how perfectly his life has been going in the year they’ve spent acting like he didn’t exist?

“Yeah Mom, Dad, of _course_ I’m still going to grad school. Of course I have a job. I’m a CEO right now, actually!” He laughs bitterly and kicks his feet up on the coffee table. How would they have any way of knowing differently? He could do it. He could smile at the table, play the part, be the good smart successful son. And then drive back home to his shithole apartment and another voicemail from his landlord bitching at him about late payments.

“No,” he growls, finishing the rest of his beer in one swig. He gets unsteadily to his feet and paces to the window, fixing his hair in the faint reflection. “They want to see how I’m doing? Let them see. Let them see exactly what happens when you can’t be bothered to _parent_ your _child_.”

All at once, a wave of calm washes over him. It’s brilliant, actually. Frank may have hung up on him the first time he called to complain about money, but that was months ago. He’d barely even graduated by that point, there was no reason to believe he wouldn’t be able to take care of himself.

Which he _can_ , of course, he reminds himself. He’s not helpless. He’s in a temporary situation that’s beyond his control and he just needs a foothold to get out. That’s all. Just a little boost and then he can get his shit together and follow the future he always knew he was meant to have. He’ll never even have to talk to his family again.

He packs his clothes in a daze, piecing together a plan. He’ll be nice, he’ll be cordial, he’ll actually eat some of the meal. He’ll wait for his mother to ask him how he’s been doing and he’ll spill the whole sob story. In a respectable sort of way. The sort of way that will garner him the concern and sympathy he deserves.

He needs to sell it. No concealing the dark smudges under his eyes. The rattiest dress shirt he owns paired with his worn city sneakers. He should have a date, too, now that he thinks about it. Some trashy girl several leagues under him who can hang off his arm and whine the whole night and laugh too loudly at the dinner table.

He’s sure he knows people who fit the bill, girls he brought home while too drunk to have standards. He has more than a few of their numbers, never used. But they must be wrong, he must have been too wasted to punch them in correctly, because none of the girls he calls pick up. Not even the ones who would be lucky to get a call back from him.

It’s not a problem, he tells himself as he opens his laptop. He doesn’t need to make things messy by involving some former drunken hookup. People online will do anything for money, and when things go all according to Dennis’ plan, he’ll have plenty to spare.

 

~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~

 

“Are you sure you’re not coming this year?” Charlie asks, setting his suitcase by the door with a thud. Mac wants to swing it at his head at the poorly-hidden hint of pity in Charlie’s voice. “The guest room’s empty and my mom loves having you around. She always makes too much food anyway…”

Mac waves him off. “Forget it, Charlie,” he grumbles, sinking back further against the couch. Watching Charlie buzz around the apartment all day, packing half-folded shirts and ignoring calls from his mother had put Mac in a bad mood that he hasn’t drank nearly enough yet to drown out. He isn’t _regretting_ choosing to stay home this year, it was still going to be far more worthwhile, he just hadn’t realized how annoying it was watching someone else pack for the holidays when he wasn’t going with them. With luck Charlie would leave soon and Mac could sulk in peace.

Instead though, Charlie just drops down next to him, swiping what’s left of Mac’s half-finished can of beer. “Look, I get it dude, but I don’t know what you’re planning on doing here all alone. It’s not like you’re working or anything.”

“Thanks for reminding me,” Mac grunts, snatching his drink back. Charlie had already drank most of it, damn him. Alcohol was becoming as hard to come by as decent food these days. No money, no fun. Mac’s third job of the year kicking him to the curb two days ago certainly didn’t help matters. Who fires someone so close to the holidays, anyway? Heartless bastards. ‘Disorderly conduct’ his ass. “What makes you think I’m just sitting around anyway, huh? I’ve got a life, I’ve got family too.”

Charlie’s mouth twists, either in a grimace or a valiant effort not to smirk. “Come on, dude,” he hedges slowly.

Mac glowers. “What?”

“There’s no way your mom invited you home for Thanksgiving. I don’t even think your mom knows it _is_ Thanksgiving.”

Mac whirls on him, pent-up annoyance now a hot flare of anger. “You don’t know that! I- I get invited home for the holidays every year! I’ve just been going with you so you feel better.”

Charlie rolls his eyes up to the ceiling but, with a small sigh, finally drops it. “Alright, man, whatever. It’s your Thanksgiving, do whatever you want. Listen though, if the landlord comes by while I’m gone, pretend you’re not home. He called the other day and he is _not_ happy that we’ve been ignoring all the red letters he sent us.”

Mac snorts. “The hell does he want, an apology note? Unless you’ve got a few hundred bucks lying around he’s shit out of luck.” The ever-present threat of being evicted is like the thought of waking up to find the apartment on fire. Technically a possibility, but never anything that feels more than hypothetical. The letters and phone calls are getting more and more frequent, but that doesn’t have to mean anything if they don’t let it.

It’s still an undeniable truth though: Mac and Charlie need money. They’ve needed money since they day they paid their down payment with what was left of Mac’s drug funds. All the shitty busboy jobs in Philly might have some personal vendetta against Mac, but he’s got a plan anyway. Charlie just doesn’t need to know about it yet.

Charlie stands up with a stretch, crossing over to their tiny kitchen. “Well, I don’t know about you, dude, but I’m not leaving until the morning and in the meantime, I’m going to get as drunk as I can.” He plucks two beer cans from the fridge and waves one at Mac. “You want one?”

“Just bring the whole case over.” If he doesn’t need to spent his holidays playing nice for Charlie’s mom for once, he does not intend to do it sober.

The beer helps a little, like it always does. His firing and the red envelopes and the 5th Thanksgiving in a row without a call from his mother all settle in a muddled heap in the back of his mind. Reluctantly, he even feels bad for snapping at Charlie. The kid hadn’t really done anything wrong, Mac just can’t stomach the idea of yet another year as his awkward tag-along. He’s too old to be sleeping on Charlie’s pullout couch anymore.

And besides, he keeps telling himself, Charlie would thank him eventually when he found out what he had in mind instead.

“So are you really just going to sit around here for three days?” Charlie asks, flicking at the tab of a beer can.

Mac shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe. What does it matter?”

“It’s kinda sad, dude.”

Mac glances sideways at him, wondering if he’s genuinely bothered by the idea of Mac spending the holidays with the alley cats or if he’s just annoyed that Mac’s ditching him. He swishes the beer in his can thoughtfully. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to reassure him after all. “I’ve got other plans, actually,” he says finally.

“What?” Charlie whirls on him, considerably more alarmed now than before. “With who? Come on, man, do not tell me you’re bailing on Thanksgiving with me to go hang out with some chick.”

Mac wrinkles his nose. “No, dude. Here, look,” He digs for his phone in the pile of trash on the table. “I had a great idea the other day. I’m gonna get us enough money to get the landlord off our asses for the next month at least.” He holds the phone up to Charlie. “Check it out.”

Charlie blinks vacantly at the screen for a few moments before Mac realizes the problem. “Dammit, nevermind, don’t try to read it,” he says, taking the phone back.

“Well what is it?”

“It’s an ad I took out, dude,” Mac says, grinning widely. “People online will pay for _anything_. So I said I’d be some rich bozo’s date for like two hundred bucks.”

It’s genius. He’s known it is since he first came up with it three days ago, drunk off his ass and wondering how he was going to get out of being Charlie’s pity-invite for the fifth Thanksgiving in a row. But now Charlie’s looking a hell of a lot less impressed than Mac was expecting, and it’s really killing his vibe a bit.

“Right,” Charlie says slowly. “Look man, I know you just lost your job and all but you really don’t need to go and start arranging weird sex stuff online. There’s other options.”

“It’s not- I’m not-” Mac sputters for a moment before shaking his head and slamming back the rest of his beer. “Fuck off, Charlie, I’m providing an important service, not whoring myself out. None of it’s real, anyway. Dumb rich kids want to look cool and tough to their parents, and I’ve got a badass van and sweet tattoos.”

At Charlie’s unchanging look of skepticism, Mac rolls his eyes and sighs. “Look, dude, I saw it on TV once okay? You just don’t understand how the market works.”

“Whoa, hold on, I understand the market perfectly,” Charlie argued, holding up his hands. “There’s just not a single person in this city who will pay you two hundred dollars to pretend to date them, because that’s insane.”

“Well I guess that’s where you’re wrong, Charlie,” Mac says, kicking his feet up on the table with a lofty smirk.

Charlie blinks at him. “Dude, you are not seriously doing this,” he says, and his disbelief melts away into sheer agitation. “You can’t just trust internet people, man. What if their whole family is a murder cult just trying to kidnap new victims? What if they don’t _have_ a family? What if they’re not even human, Mac, do you have a backup plan for that?”

“Bro, you’re being completely ridiculous,” Mac says. “Look, you know by now that I have the raw strength to get myself out of any situation. And either way, I’ll be able to assess any possible danger as it arises and react accordin- Godammit, Charlie, quit laughing! This is serious!”

Charlie lifts his palms defensively. “I’m sorry dude, it’s just-”

“Unbelieveable! Don’t you trust me?” At Charlie’s hesitant shrug, he springs furiously off the couch. “I can’t believe this,” he says. “I’m doing this to _help_ us.” He gathers as many beer cans as he can in one arm and stalks to his bedroom.

“Aw c’mon, dude, what are you doing?” Charlie whines after him.

“I’m going to pack, I’m going to get drunk alone, and then tomorrow I’m going to go do my awesome plan with or without your support,” Mac replies, shoving his way through the doorway. He glances briefly back at his roommate, who’s looking more than a little bewildered. “You’ll thank me when this is over, Charlie!” He promises before letting the door slam shut behind him.

 

~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~

 

Mac shows up at Dennis’ apartment an hour late and blatantly nursing a hangover. He’s got unkempt stubble and stupid tattoos and his van sheds paint chips at the slightest touch. He looks like he hit rock bottom five years ago and didn’t even notice. Objectively, he’s perfect. Dennis can even look past the whole ‘not being a chick’ thing because really, Mac is exactly what he wanted.

He’s also insufferable to spend a car ride with.

Dennis’ parents don’t live far away. Just a bit outside the city, maybe a half hour’s drive if the roads are clear. Which they aren’t, not by a long shot. The erratic starts and stops as vacationing idiots weave their way through the lanes is enough to make him dig his nails into the seat, and he’s not even the one driving.

Which was a damn mistake on its own, because Mac is one of the worst drivers he’s ever seen. It takes hitting a fourth curb for him to admit it’s “maybe been awhile” since he’s driven his van on any main roads. Judging by the ancient-looking sandwich wrappers and beer cans that’s he’s currently ankle-deep in, Dennis can believe it.

The air inside the van smells like stale bread and whatever horrific cologne Mac is wearing. It’s mildly annoying at first, and by the time they slam to a halt in traffic for the tenth time, it’s suffocating. Dennis punches down against the window switch with enough force to nearly break it clean off, but the glass doesn’t budge.

“Oh that hasn’t worked in years, dude,” Mac says cheerfully from the driver’s seat. “Charlie spilled a whole can of beer on the switch, totally fried the circuits.” He laughs, then stops to look concerned as he notices Dennis’ face. “You okay, bro? Hey, if you’re gonna puke, don’t bother with the window, just lemme know and I can pull over or something. No shame in getting carsick, dude, but cleaning vomit off these seats is a bitch.”

Christ, and that’s the worst part: he’s _chatty_. Dennis shakes his head and manages what he hopes is a placating smile. It feels like a grimace. Judging by Mac’s uncertain glance, it must look like one too.

He consoles himself with one thought: As much as he finds Mac to be wholly unendurable, his family will dislike him tenfold. He imagines the look on his mother’s face when her lovely son’s ‘boyfriend’ sits down at the dinner table in a sleeveless t-shirt and combat boots. He imagines what it will be like to finally tell them how unfair his life has been since they’ve left him without help. (Nothing that isn’t true, of course, but he wouldn’t be against some embellishments, just so they understand the magnitude of the situation.)

 _You don’t think they’ll find that pathetic?_ , some unfamiliar voice in the back of his mind sneers. For the first moment since yesterday, he feels an prickle of uncertainty. He shakes his head slightly and it vanishes. No, of course not. It’s not his fault life’s been dealing him a shitty hand since he graduated. And at least he _did_ graduate, actually managed to find a place to live, and isn’t still living at home like Dee. No, there’s no comparison. All he needs is a little help one more time and then things can finally fall into place, just like they were always meant to. His parents can be reasonable people when they feel like it, they’ll understand.

The entire van jerks sharply to the right, knocking Dennis’ head sharply off the window. The back wheel snags against the curb as they careen down some unfamiliar sideroad. “Shit!” Mac yelps, glancing back. “Sorry, dude. Don’t worry, this is a _major_ shortcut.”

Gently, gingerly, Dennis rests his head back against the window and closes his eyes. This will be worth it eventually.

 

~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~

 

At first, Mac thought Dennis was just an asshole. Some perfect-haired former frat douche who’s not above renting a fake date of craigslist but still thinks he’s too good for said date’s badass van and great taste in music. But now, as they pull up into the driveway of Dennis’ house (which Mac drove past twice because, come on, there’s no way it’s _that_ one), it all makes perfect sense. Dennis isn’t just an asshole, he’s a _rich_ asshole.

“Holy shit, dude,” Mac breathes, hefting their luggage out of the back of the van. He’d had no idea what to pack, just shoved a handful of clothes into a threadbare duffel bag and hoped nobody was planning to get on his ass about not bringing a toothbrush. “You _live_ here?”

Dennis gives what looks like the first genuine smile Mac’s seen and claps him on the back. “Born and raised here,” he says breezily. He’s blatantly boasting, not even trying to hide it, but Mac is too disoriented to even really notice. He’s never been so close to a house this big in his life.

Dennis nudges him. “Come on, we’re already late.” He shakes his head and Mac hears him mutter, “Some shortcut,” but Mac lets it slide. He’s too busy wondering what sort of people own a house like this. He guesses he’s about to find out.

Dennis rings the doorbell with an absurd flourish and then, the moment the sound stops reverberating behind the massive door, seems to have a hundred second thoughts at once. He whirls on Mac, hands hovering awkwardly like he wants to rearrange every part of him but doesn’t know where to start. “Okay, listen up,” he says, jamming his hands in his pockets. “You’re going to meet my parents and my sister and however many maids they still keep around here. My mom will hate everything about you. My dad is a halfway senile old bastard and you’re better off spending the least amount of time possible with him. Don’t worry about my sister, she’s not going to want anything to do with you.” He breathes out slowly, stares up at the huge house like he can barely comprehend it too. “Just,” he offers Mac the stiffest of smiles, “be yourself.”

The woman who answers the door is Dennis’ mother, Mac is sure of it. Not because there’s any sort of family resemblance – and really, there isn’t much at all – but because she looks exactly like the kind of person Mac would think would own a house like this. She greets Dennis with a grim-looking smile but makes no move to touch him. More surprisingly to Mac, neither does Dennis.

“Dennis, how lovely to see you,” she says cooly. “We were starting to think you’d never show up.”

Dennis gives a miniscule shrug of apology. “You know how the roads can be on holidays, Mom.”

“Awful drivers for miles,” she agrees disdainfully. “Well don’t just stand there, come in if you’re already late. I’ll see if your father will be bothering to make an appearance.”

The inside of the house is ridiculous. It’s insane. It’s a house from a movie, not a real place that somebody Mac’s age could have grown up in. He’s busy staring wide-eyed at the staircase when he hears Dennis’ mother shout from another room.

“Frank! Get out here already!”

Then, a muffled response, “I told you not to bother me until there’s food. I didn’t come home for the holidays to be nagged at.”

“Your _son_ is here, Frank. Try occasionally to remember you’re a father and not just a miserable excuse for a husband.”

There’s some barely-audible cursing, the sound of a door opening, and Dennis’ mother returns with his father in tow. Mac takes back what he thoughts before about family resemblance. Dennis and his mother look like twins compared to this man and, well, _anybody_ Mac’s ever seen before.

“So Dee actually did talk you into coming home after all,” Dennis’ father comments, looking him over for a moment.

Dennis offers him the most pained smile Mac’s ever seen. “Oh I was always planning to come, Frank. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“I’m sure,” Frank snorts. He turns his squintish gaze on Mac. “Who the hell is this?”

Dennis’ mother seems to notice Mac for the first time as well, peering at him without much particular interest. “Yes, who _did_ you decide to bring along? Deandra didn’t say you mentioned any guests.”

“Oh, well,” Dennis reaches up to a put a hand on Mac’s shoulder. Mac tries to loop one around his waist and gets his hand swatted away in return. “This is Mac. He’s not my guest, actually, he’s my…”

He hesitates a moment and Mac jumps in to help, finishing, “Boyfriend,’ at the same time Dennis finally gets out, “Partner”.

Dennis’ mom simply raises her eyebrows slightly, looking Mac over with a sudden pointedness. Mac tries his best to square his shoulders.

“I told you he’d turn out gay if we sent him to that fancy-ass college,” Frank mutters to her.

“Frank, please,” she sighs, but she’s still looking at Mac like she’s trying to drill holes in him. Mac thinks it might work if he stands there too long.

“Well I think you’ll like Mac _very_ much the more you get to know him,” Dennis says smoothly, throwing Mac a sideways look and grin. Mac straightens up instantly. Dennis is paying him to give a show, not just stand there like an idiot. And if Dennis’ parents are going to keep staring at him anyway, then by god he’s going to _sell it_.

“Oh, I’m sure they’ll love me just as much as you do,” he says, finally getting an arm hooked around Dennis’ waist. After watching him sulk and complain the whole ride over, seeing him try to hide an uncomfortable flush is beyond entertaining. “Isn’t that right, babe?”

“Absolutely,” Dennis says quickly, and he ducks out of Mac’s grip just fast enough to shove his duffel bag into Mac’s arm instead. “Actually, I think I’ll be okay down here for now. Why don’t you go take our bags up to my room, _sweetheart_?” His smile could cut glass.

Mac’s not complaining about an excuse to get out of the foyer. Two hundred dollars or not, he’s not eager to spend any more time around Dennis’ parents than he immediately has to. Mac wonders if all rich families are like this.

It isn’t until he’s safely at the top of the massive marble staircase that he realizes Dennis hadn’t actually told him which room was his. This isn’t like his old house either, where the second story was two bedrooms and nothing else. The hallway stretched in front of him seems endless.

Well, he figures if he keeps opening doors he’ll find it eventually. The two nearest to him are storage closets. The third is a bathroom half the size of his apartment. The fourth is locked and he’s in the middle of considering whether it would be bad form or part of his act if he tried to kick it open when he hears footsteps behind him.

“Dude,” he says, whirling around, “you can’t send me up here and not even tell me which room-” He freezes because it’s not Dennis who followed him up. It’s a girl with blonde hair who’s staring at him like he’s a mangy stray dog that wandered in uninvited.

“Are you one of the new staff?” She asks. “Because I’ll tell you right now, there’s no way in hell my mom is going to let you keep wearing that outfit. You better change before she takes your head off.”

“What, I’m not-“ Mac looks down at his shirt, frowning. It’s not a _bad_ outfit. “I’m Mac. I’m here with-“ he pauses, something clicking in his head as the girl glares at him with cold blue eyes. “Wait, are you Dennis’ sister?”

She recoils visibly. “Oh god, are you one of my brother’s friends?”

“I’m-” he pauses, straightens up and squares his shoulder. “I’m his boyfriend, actually,” he says, and hopes it sounds natural, like something he’s said a hundred times already.

She raises her eyebrows. “What, did he finally scare off every woman in Philly and have to find some other options?” When he just stares at her blankly, she looks him up and down and frowns. “Where’d he manage to dig you up, anyway? I don’t think he’s had a steady date since high school.”

“Oh! Well we-” Mac hesitates, his mind scrambling for an answer but finding nothing. They hadn’t discussed this at all beforehand. Dennis had said to let him do the talking but Dennis wasn’t here, dammit. “We met a a bar,” he says finally. He conjures up an image of meeting a handsome blue-eyed stranger at one of the shitty dive bars in town, wills it to feel as real as possible. After that, the rest of it comes easy. “He got drunk as shit so I brought him home in my sweet van and then naturally, we banged. And we’ve been together ever since. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” she repeats slowly, frowning. He can’t tell if the look on her face is suspicion or not and he hopes his composure is as rock-solid as he thinks it is because he can feel himself sweating already. Ultimately, though, she just rolls her eyes. “Whatever. Look, I dealt with my brother’s disastrous love life enough during school, I’m not starting again. Now are you going through all our linen closets for fun or do you actually need something?”

“I’m looking for Dennis’ room,” he says, holding up their luggage like an appeasement.

A muffled shout drifts up from downstairs. “Dee! Come down here right now and say hello to your brother.”

Dennis’ sister - Dee, he guesses - glowers in the direction of the stairs. “God forbid I don’t kiss his ass the moment he walks through the door,” she mutters. To Mac, she says, “Second to last door on the right side. My room’s two doors down, don’t go anywhere near it.”

“Dee!”

“I’m coming!” She snaps back. She gives him one last curious, or maybe warning, look before disappearing down the long staircase.

Mac follows Dee’s directions and finds Dennis’ room to be, if anything, underwhelming. He doesn’t know what he expected from the unlived-in old room of a college graduate, but the whole thing feels uncomfortably lifeless and bare. Mac’s old childhood room hadn’t changed much at all since he’d still been sleeping in it; same old toys and mementos shoved into the closet, same patterned sheets on the bed, same dents in the wall from teenage roughhousing with Charlie. Dennis’ room offers little evidence that it was ever occupied by a child.

Little visible evidence, anyway, and considering the less-than-average circumstances, Mac doesn’t consider himself above snooping around a little. He glances through the dresser drawers, not finding much besides neatly-folded shirts and a few socks. The closet likewise is empty save for a few fancy-looking sweaters and some shoes. Bored and curious, he pokes around under the impeccably-made bed and unearths a few battered cardboard boxes. A few of them are labeled, marked in careful sharpie with dates at least a decade ago. Jackpot.

He pries the nearest one open to reveal a mess of photos and what looks like old school papers, marked up furiously with the scribbly handwriting of a little kid. A feeling of unease prods at the back of Mac’s mind. It feels weird, almost intimate, to go through this stuff, but curiosity wins out over any guilt he might have. It’s Dennis’ fault anyway for not bothering to tell Mac anything about him. He’d just have to find out for himself.

He picks up one of the photos. Mac supposes it’s Dennis and his sister, though they can’t be more than nine years old. They’re both in fancy little clothes and perched stiffly on a white couch, scowling at the camera. Mac swears he’s seen the same expression on both of them already today. He flips it over. “The twins at Thanksgiving” is written in neat pen. It’s dated fourteen years ago.

The rest of the box is the same sort of thing: old home pictures of Dennis’ family - mostly Dennis - at varying ages. School portraits. Report cards and old assignments. Nothing as interesting as he was hoping for. Even snotty rich kids must have a few interesting childhood keepsakes, right? The next box is books and old toys, in considerably better shape than any of Mac’s old playthings were. Buried at the bottom is a stuffed elephant, the only thing with any considerable wear. He shakes it experimentally and watches the head roll limply on its loose stitching.

He must be too distracted for his instincts to be working properly, because he hears the footsteps outside a second too late and nearly jumps out of his skin when the door opens. He scrambles to his feet so fast he almost falls over. Dennis hardly even glances at him, checking his watch as he throws open one of the dresser drawers. “Dinner’s in twenty minutes so you’d better-” He pauses and frowns, gaze falling to the piles of boxes on the floor.

“Those were, uh, there when I got up here,” Mac says.

It’s a shit excuse but Dennis doesn’t seem to notice, just rolls his eyes. “I come back home for the first time in a year and I can’t even expect a clean room. Unbelieveable,” he mutters, pulling a tie from the dresser and throwing it over his shoulder. He crosses to the bed and starts shoving boxes back where Mac found them. He picks up the stuffed animal Mac had dropped to the floor, inspects it for a moment, then places it on the windowsill. He kicks the rest of the junk back under the bed and straightens up to tie his tie.

“Am I supposed to be getting dressed up good too?” Mac asks. He hadn’t thought to bring a nice outfit with him, not that he’s even sure he still owns one, so if Dennis is going to expect this fancy shit from him he’d better be willing to share.

Dennis just shakes his head though, inspecting himself carefully in the dresser mirror. “Absolutely not. You’re here to look like the worst decision I’ve ever made, not for me to show you off.” Dennis straightens his tie, pushes a hand through his hair. He turns back to Mac with a smile and places a hand on his shoulder. “Mac, you and I have been dating for three months. I am a promising college graduate and you are a lowlife nobody . Nothing personal, of course, but you are just one more stepping stone on the wrong path I’ve been led down. Try to make it look that way.”

Mac nods eagerly. “I was thinking I’d smash a few plates or something. Or should I wait until after dinner for that? I’m actually kind of starving so if we could eat and _then_ go on with the plan-”

“No, no, goddammit,” Dennis presses his eyes shut and exhales slowly. “Look, Mac, all that stuff you said on your ad? Smashing plates and getting drunk and, what the hell was it, karate? Forget that. Don’t do _any_ of it.”

“But-”

“Mac, listen,” Dennis squeezes his shoulder a little more tightly, “all I really need you to do is just be here. Let me do the talking, let my parents think I’ve stooped to the level of dating a low-class gym rat who’s far below my standing. Which you are, just speaking objectively.” Mac must still look a little hesitant because sighs. “Look, all you have to do is do what I say for a few hours and then I can pay you and we never have to see each other ever again. Okay? We’re just helping each other out here.”

“I guess...” Mac concedes finally. He stares firmly at the tops of his boots because, really, Dennis is standing far too close to him right now.

“I’m glad we both agree,” Dennis finally releases his vice-grip on Mac’s shoulder and straightens his tie in the mirror. “Let’s go to dinner.”

 

~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~

 

"Dennis," Mac hisses, leaning over, and if he thinks he's actually whispering he's ridiculously mistaken. "I have no idea what any of this stuff is."

"It's _food_ ," Dennis hisses back, glaring at the spread in front of them. It's far from the most lavish meal that's ever been served at the Reynolds household, especially considering how small of a family reunion this was. It's just a few plates of meats, stuffing, some vegetables, glazed rolls, stuffed potatoes, a few kinds of salad. The standard stuff. Mac has been eyeballing it like it might try to bite him since they sat down. "Haven't you ever had a Thanksgiving meal before?"

"Yeah, but normal stuff," Mac whines. "Don't you guys just have turkey?"

"There's turkey right there!"

"Then what's that weird stuff all over it?"

Dennis slams his fork down on the table hard enough to rattle both their plates. Why not? They're already probably arguing loud enough for the kitchen staff to hear. Dee is eyeing them strangely from the other side of the table. As is Frank, though he's considerably more occupied with pouring his third glass of wine. His mother is patiently ignoring all of them.

"Look," Dennis says, breathing out slowly as he tries to regain his composure, "just take whatever you want. I don't give a shit if you don't eat it, I'm not your mom, just shut up about it already."

Mac sulks but scoops about a pound of potato gratin onto his plate anyway. “This wine is awful, too,” he adds, back to the ridiculously fake whisper. He holds up the glass, addressing the whole table now. “Do you guys have anything stronger?”

“Great guy you’ve got there, Dennis,” Dee remarks, raising her eyebrows. “Really compliments you.”

“Where’d you drag him out of, anyway?” Frank asks.

“We met in a bar,” Mac says quickly, before Dennis can even open his mouth to answer. “My bar, actually. The bar I work at.”

“You work at a bar?” His mother asks without looking up.

“Well, _technically_ I own it,” Mac says, grinning stupidly in pride at his imaginary feat. “I’m head of security there, too. I like to consider myself a jack of all trades-”

“Yeah, real great place he runs over there,” Dennis interrupts, laughing too loudly. “A little divey but you know, some people like that, right? It really is too bad they’ll probably shut it down soon.”

“What?” Mac yelps, and when Dennis looks over there’s a very real wounded look on his face. “It’s a great place! It’s - it’s classy and-”

“Well it’s hard to run a _classy_ establishment when you don’t have any _money_ ,” Dennis snaps back. “Which you don’t. Which is why they keep shutting off your electricity.”

Mac finally sinks back against his seat, still sulking over his imaginary goddamn bar but at least keeping his mouth shut. He jabs angrily at a pile of cranberry sauce.

“Enough about Dennis’… partner already,” his mother finally speaks up from the other side of the table. She’s looking at Mac with an unreadable expression, which shifts to a sharp smile as she turns back to Dennis. “Dennis, dear, tell us about how you’ve been doing. We’ve all been so anxious to hear from you again.”

Dee snorts. “On the edge of our seats.”

“Deandra, for once in your life please be pleasant-”

“You got a job yet?” Frank grunts.

Dennis pauses, taking a breath. This is what he’s been waiting for, what he drove an hour with the world’s most insufferable fake date for, what he spent an hour practicing vulnerable faces in the mirror for. He feels compelled, for some reason, to glance briefly over at Mac, but the man’s either still brooding or really is just incredibly absorbed with pushing his mashed potatoes around his plate.

“It’s been going great,” he says, forcing a wide smile. “Yeah, really great. It’s just that, well…” He waits patiently for someone to prompt him on and, when they don’t, he finishes anyway, “some things have been difficult lately. People just don’t appreciate clear academic accomplishment anymore, and living in the city, well you know, it’s unpredictable. “

“That’s a no on the job, then,” Frank mutters to Barbara. She waves him off.

“What about graduate school?” She asks. “I thought you were looking to go into veterinary science?”

“Of course I am,” Dennis says quickly, and has to mentally smooth the defensive hitch from his voice before continuing. “I’ve applied to many schools and I’m still waiting to hear back from most of them. But the whole application process, it’s expensive and it’s time-consuming and it’s been very difficult to focus on my academic life when I’m still trying to just pay the bills.” He forces a small laugh that drops off instantly as he feels Mac lean in next to him.

“Yes,” he says, adopting a grave expression that looks wholly ridiculous, “and as the sole breadwinner of this relationship, I would like to say that it’s very difficult to provide for us most days. Of course I work very hard to support Dennis so he can be a cat doctor some day but all on my own it’s hard to-”

“Yes Mac, thank you,” Dennis says, forcing a smile and patting his arm with as much force as he can get away with. “I don’t need someone to look after me, actually, I’m just going through a bit of a rough patch right now. As you can see, it’s been very difficult needing to… _rely_ on someone like Mac just to put food on the table.”

Dee looks up from her food with a frown. “So what’s the problem? Just get a job as a waiter somewhere. Since when is there not a single place in Philly that’ll hire a sad-sack twenty year old?”

Dennis forces himself not to bristle. “Dee, I am an ivy-league graduate. A job as some - some _pizza shop waiter_ isn’t going to look good on a med school application. It’ll look pathetic! I shouldn’t be stooping to some service position when I’m on the verge of beginning the most important and successful part of my life.”

She rolls her eyes. “My god, you’re so ridiculous. Everyone works shitty jobs when they’re broke, that’s how the world works.”

“Well perhaps not _everyone_ has quite your brother’s level of formal education,” their mother says, casting a small but pointed look at Dee. She turns back to Dennis with a small smile. “I _am_ glad to hear that at least one of you isn’t planning to completely throw your college tuition out the window, but your situation is… concerning.”

“He’s not homeless yet and he’s not a crackhead yet,” Frank interjects. “I don’t see what his problem is.”

“Frank, for god’s sake, you’ve got one child who’s actually trying to make something of his life-”

“No, you’re right, Dad,” Dennis says, the word rolling strangely off his tongue. “It just seems unfair to _you_ of course. After all, one of us needs to upload the family name, and clearly that’s going to be me.”

“Oh come _on_. What have you contributed to the family name besides a stack of sexual harassment charges?” Dee is looking back and forth between her brother and their parents with a look of dawning comprehension. If she ruins this for him Dennis is going to kill her, he’s really going to do it.

“Right, because getting thrown in the nut house instead of graduating is a _much_ better reputation,” Dennis snaps, digging his fingers into the tablecloth. A rush of familiarity washes over him; he hasn’t had a family dinner like this in a long, long time. It’s nostalgic in the worst way.

He glances over at Mac for the first time in what feels like an hour. Mac doesn’t look afraid or even particularly put off. He’s glancing between Dennis and Dee like he thinks one of them might vault the table and make things physical. Like he might join in if they did.

“Children, that’s enough,” Barbara says finally, in the same vacant tone she’s been using since they were five.

Dennis straightens back up slowly, willing all his muscles to relax. “You’re right, Mom, absolutely. Dee, that was very childish.” He smiles as she tries to glare him to death from across the table.

“Thank you, Dennis, I’m glad somebody at this table still knows how to behave,” his mother says. She turns to glare pointedly at her husband. “Perhaps it would do _you_ some good to take notice. He’s right that he’ll be taking over for you someday. Sooner rather than later, I would hope. I can’t possibly imagine you’ll manage to live that much longer.”

“I’ll be outliving you at least, you bitch,” Frank snaps. He turns back to Dennis, folding his hands and leaning forward seriously, like they’re at a business meeting and he isn’t halfway to drunk at the Thanksgiving table. “Dennis, as much as I hate to say it your mother has a point. You’re the last one in this family with any sort of potential, and it ain't much, but it’s the best we’ve got. Unless you want to be sleeping in an alley or dating a street rat for the rest of you life, you’d better get back on the right path.”

“I promise,” Dennis says, letting the earnesty drip from his voice, “that’s exactly what I want to do.”

“Good,” Frank says, “because I’m putting your sorry ass back on an allowance until you get your shit together.”

Dennis’ breath feels caught in his throat. “Oh,” he manages finally, “well you don’t _have_ to-“

“Save it,” Frank waves him off, “I know how you kids are. All you ever want is money anyway.”

“You won’t regret this,” Dennis assures him.

“Long as it keeps you outta this house,” Frank grunts. “Already sick of having these two around every day.”

“This is the first time you’ve been home in three weeks, Frank,” Dee argues.

“And why do you think I stay outta here all the time?”

“This is ridiculous,” Dee says. “Dennis is on his own for a year and manages to completely screw up his life and you guys are paying him for it? What about me?”

“You have a job, Deandra,” Barbara says.

“Exactly!”

Dennis lets the rest of the argument fade into the background. He’s ecstatic, he’s in disbelief. Of course, he knew it would work. He never had a doubt. But to see it fall into place so seamlessly is almost beyond his own fantasies. He should start giving himself more credit.

Somewhere distantly, he can feel Mac shaking him by the shoulder with a congratulatory grin, but he barely lets himself register it. He barely registers the food on his plate or the snow starting to fall outside or the rest of the meal entirely. With luck, this will be the last miserable thanksgiving he’ll be spending in this house. He’s going to finally get his foothold in the world and he’s never coming back.

 

~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~

 

“I just don’t understand why we’re leaving so early,” Mac says as he trails Dennis down the stairs, bags in hand.

“Nothing to understand, Mac. We showed up, we had dinner, and now we’re getting the hell out,” he pauses by the foyer where Dee is watching the two of them with an unamused glare, nursing the first of her post-Thanksgiving beers. “Here,” he turns and throws his duffel bag over Mac’s shoulder, “do me and favor and take those out to the van, okay baby?”

Mac mutters in assent and disappears out the front door, managing a startled yelp of, “Shit! It’s snowing!” before it slams behind him with a bang.

“This is ridiculous,” Dee says. Dennis turns to look at her with a innocently raised eyebrow and she practically snarls at him. “Come _on_ , Dennis. You were barely here for three hours and you’re already hauling ass back to Philly?”

Dennis smirks. “I came here to have Thanksgiving dinner with my family, Dee. I don’t think I need to stick around for the part where everybody gets irresponsibly drunk and yells at each other until midnight.”

Dee is silent for a moment, just staring at him with an almost accusatory look. “I know what you’re up to,” she says finally.

Dennis does his best to look wounded. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play stupid, Dennis, you’re not some brilliant mastermind,” Dee snaps. She takes a swig from her beer and crosses her arms. “You only came here so you could whine like a baby about how hard your life is until Mom and Dad give you money again. It’s pathetic.”

Dennis raises his eyebrows. “More pathetic than living at home? Working as a waitress?”

“Yes!” She sputters indignantly. “At least I’m doing honest work. Face it, you just can’t handle being an adult so you had to come crawling back for help.”

“Oh, real cutting stuff coming from you,” he says, turning away. “I didn’t crawl back to anybody, Dee. They saw my situation and reasonably decided to contribute.”

Dee gives a sharp laugh. “You were practically falling over yourself to kiss ass back there, Dennis. All that bullshit about wanting to make yourself into a better man. I don’t even know if he,” she jerks a thumb at the door, “is even your real boyfriend or if he’s just part of your half-assed scheme but it’s sad, Dennis. That’s what it is, sad.”

Dennis breathes out slowly, smiles before turning back to face her. Maybe some other year he’d fall for it, let himself get carried away into some pointless fight like they were ten years old again. This time, though, he’s going to be the bigger man. The _better_ man. “You can bitch about it all you want, Dee, but at the end of the day I’m going home successful and you’re stuck here. Same as it’s always been.”

The front door opens in a whirl of freezing air. Mac ducks quickly inside, piles of snowflakes stuck almost comically to his dark hair. “We have a problem,” he says.

“What now?” Dennis sighs. The patience he’d carefully cultivated for this visit is running thin. All he wants to do it get back to his apartment, maybe go out for some celebratory drinks and find a decent-looking girl. He thinks he’s more than earned it. He doesn’t need more problems right now.

“Dude on the radio says this snow’s not gonna stop for like six hours.” Mac glances nervously over his shoulder. “It’s already coming down pretty hard.”

“So?”

“ _So_?” Mac practically gapes at him. “Dude, there’s going to be a shit-ton of snow on the roads. We can’t drive home in that.”

“Oh yes we can,” Dennis says, crossing the floor and shoving past Mac to peer outside. For god’s sake, it’s hardly a blizzard. “This is nothing, Mac. We’re not staying here any longer than we need to just because you don’t feel like dealing with a little snow traffic. Come on,” he steps outside, already blinking snowflakes off his eyelashes.

Mac doesn’t budge. “I can’t take the van out in this, dude. That thing is, like, an antique.”

“It’s a piece of shit is what it is,” Dennis snaps.

“It has sentimental value!”

Dennis is not dealing with this right now. The wind is cutting through his dress shirt, snowmelt is soaking his shoes, and he is _not dealing with this right now_ . “Mac. Come _on_.”

Mac folds his arms across his chest.

“Goddammit,” Dennis shoulders his way back inside. The small burst of satisfaction he feels when he sends Mac stumbling into the door isn’t nearly enough. He doesn’t bother to look at either of the people standing wide-eyed in the foyer, just kicks his wet shoes at the wall and heads straight for the staircase. He can feel their stares boring holes in the back of his shirt. “Why don’t you get our shit back out of the van, if you’re just going to stand there?” He snaps without turning around.

“You really sure you wanna be sharing a room with him?” He hears Dee ask before he rounds the top of the stairs and drowns them out with the sound of his fist connecting with the nearest door.

 

~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~

 

Dennis practically shoves Mac through the door to his bedroom, nearly sending him bowling into the dresser, and by that point he’s had enough. He didn’t even do anything _wrong_ , this guy’s just being a grade-A asshole.

“Dude,” he growls, throwing their bags in a heap on the floor, “you need to chill.”

“Chill?” Dennis snorts.

“Yeah,” Mac says as Dennis pushes carelessly past him, “chill. As in relax, bro.”

“You do not get to tell _me_ to relax,” Dennis snaps. He rips his tie off over his head and crumples it violently into a ball, throwing it against the wall like a kid having a tantrum. It would almost be hilarious if it wasn’t directed at him.

Mac rolls his eyes. “It’s not that big of a deal, we can leave as soon as the roads are clear.”

“Of course it’s not a big deal to you, it doesn’t affect you in the slightest!” Dennis snarls, jabbing a finger in Mac’s face. “You’re going to get paid and go back to your boring white trash life no matter what happens. Meanwhile, I’m betting my entire future here.”

Mac rolls his eyes, shoving Dennis’ arm away roughly. “Dude, you got what you wanted already. You’re back on your fancy rich kid allowance or whatever. What the hell is your problem now?”

“My problem is you!” Dennis snaps. He drags his fingers through his hair, sending wayward curls spilling over his forehead. “Look, my sister already thinks you’re just part of some bullshit plot to get our parents to pity me, okay?”

Mac frowns. “Aren’t I?”

“Yes, asshole, but they’re not supposed to _know_ that.” He paces to the window, staring miserably out at the falling snow. “If they find out I was lying about that they’ll think I was lying about everything. It wouldn’t matter if we could have just left on time, like we were _supposed_ to, but now we’re stuck here overnight at least and I have to factor in this whole,” he makes some vague gesture at Mac, “unpredictability.”

Mac can feel himself start to prickle with offense. He’s not the goddamn problem here. “And what exactly do you think I’m going to do, Dennis?”

Dennis doesn’t answer, just tightens his glare. It’s a wonder the window doesn’t shatter under the force of it. “I guess you don’t get it, Mac, but I can’t afford to have anything ruin this. My life isn’t easy, okay? I worked very hard to get my family to listen to reason, and I have to consider the possibility that maybe not _everyone_ here understands how high the stakes are.”

The absolute moment he has the money in his pocket, Mac is going to punch this smug dickhead as hard as he can, right in his stupid pretty-boy face. “You’re right, Dennis,” he says, “I guess I don’t understand. I don’t need to come up with bullshit elaborate schemes to solve all my problems.”

Dennis whirls on him, eyes wide. “Are you kidding me? You - you were -” Dennis closes his eyes, fingers pressed to the bridge of his nose. “I will not be mocked by a man who was selling himself out on the internet! On _Craigslist_!”

“At least I can actually find ways to pay my rent! I don’t have to come beg my mommy to do it for me.”

Dennis goes from seething to actively vengeful, glancing furiously for any projectile within reach. He finally settles on the old stuffed elephant, still perched cheerfully on the windowsill. It bounces harmless off the wall behind Mac’s head.

“Forget it,” Dennis snaps, storming to the door.

“Wait, Dennis,” Mac darts after him, nearly slamming directly into the other man as he pauses in the doorway. “What are we going to do until the snow lets up?”

“ _We_ are not doing anything,” he says. “ _I_ am going to tell everyone you fell asleep, and _you_ are going to stay in here until the very second it is time to leave.” His effort to shut the door dramatically is stopped by Mac jamming his leg in the way.

“You can’t just lock me in your room for the entire night, Dennis,” Mac complains, but Dennis just rolls his eyes.

“I’m not locking you anywhere, for god’s sake,” Dennis steps back from the door, folds his arms over his chest and sighs. “Do you remember what I told you when we first got here?” He doesn’t bother to wait for a response. “Just do what I say for one night, _one_ night, and then I’ll give you your money and we never have to see each other again.” He makes some half hearted attempt to soften his expression. “Do you think you can you do that for me, Mac?”

M takes a small step back. “Yeah, but-”

The door closes in his face before he can get another word out.

Dennis is insane if he seriously thinks Mac is just going to sit and wait in his room for him like a dog. He’s paying him to be his fake date, not to obey his every whim. He’s never been in a house like this before in his life, and he’s not passing up the chance to explore just because his pretend boyfriend is a controlling asshole.

Besides, Mac is pretty sure all rich people keep a stash of fancy liquor hidden somewhere, and he’s very interesting in finding out where.

Mac creeps out of the bedroom a few minutes after the last of Dennis’ footsteps disappear down the stairs. He does a quick security scan of the hallway but there’s no sign of life as far as he can see. Every door is closed except one, a large windowed door at the end that’s propped open just a crack. Mac can see snow falling through the glass; probably a balcony of some sort. He pushes it open curiously.

“Goddammit, can’t I get away from you dickheads anywhere?”

Mac whirls around, arms raised in preparation of a threat, but it’s just Dennis’ sister. She’s slouched on some fancy-looking lawn chair, a collection of beer bottles on the table next to her. “Oh,” he says, a little awkwardly. “Hey, Dee.”

“What do you want this time?” She frowns, squinting to try to see behind him. “Isn’t Dennis with you?”

Mac shakes his head. “Dennis is an asshole,” he offers by way of explanation. He thinks for a moment she might come to her brother’s defense, but she just laughs.

“Shit, you’re dating him and you didn’t figure that out by now?” She shakes her head and takes a drink.

Mac shrugs, crossing his arms across his chest and staring glumly out at the snow. Charlie was right, he thinks miserably, he should have just gone home with him. Mac could be having a drunk snowball fight with his best friend right now, not huddling on the balcony of some mansion he’s unwelcome in and completely, disappointingly sober.

“Oh for god’s sake,” Dee sighs after a minute of uncomfortable silence. “Look, if you’re not going to leave at least sit down. You look like you need a drink.”

Mac might still not be sure if Dee is actually on his side or not, but he _is_ sure that he’s in no mood to turn down free alcohol. He drops uncomfortably into the open chair and accepts the bottle of beer she holds out to him. He drains the entire thing in a few seconds and feels almost sheepish when he realizes.

“Shit,” Dee says with a low whistle. “That bad, huh?” She hands him another bottle without waiting for him to ask and Mac thinks that maybe not every member of Dennis’ family is totally awful after all.

“If it makes you feel better,” she says as she opens another beer for herself, “he’ll probably wear himself out in an hour or two. He’ll stomp around for a bit and be self-righteous and completely insufferable, but even he runs out of temper eventually. Then he’ll just be regularly insufferable.”

“Oh, yeah. He… does that,” Mac mutters into his drink. It feels weird talking about Dennis like this, as if they both know him just as well and Mac hadn’t even known he’d existed two days ago. Maybe Dee picks up on it because she turns to him with a considering look.

“Mac,” she says, “you’re not actually dating my brother, are you?”

Mac chokes on his beer, straightening up instantly and turning to with what he hopes is a disbelieving expression. “Of - of course I am!” He says. Her expression doesn’t change and he struggles to keep his voice level. “Come on, why would you even ask that?”

“Why?” She holds out her hand, ticking off the reasons on her fingers as she lists them, “You two barely know how to make eye contact, you’ve been on the verge of strangling each other since the moment you showed up, and you clearly know nothing about him.”

“I - We’re going through a rough patch,” Mac mumbles, not meeting her eyes. “And I do so know stuff about him. I - I bet even you don’t know as much about him as I do.”

Dee snorts. “Sometimes I wish I didn’t.” She shakes her head and finally look away. “You’re a shit liar but you know what? I decided I don’t actually care. I’m an adult woman, I’m not going to waste any more time being bothered by what my idiot brother is doing. I spent my whole childhood doing that and I’m done, you know? I’m over it.” She glares firmly out at the snow.

“Sure,” Mac says uneasily, not sure if she’s talking to him or herself.

She downs the rest of her beer all at once and scowls at the empty bottle. “Ugh, this is not getting me drunk _nearly_ fast enough.” She gets to her feet, throwing the bottle carelessly off the balcony. Mac glances nervously after her as she crosses to the door, more disappointed than he wishes he was about being abandoned by his only company. She catches his stare and rolls her eyes. “God, you look like a kicked puppy,” she says. She jerks a thumb over her shoulder. “The liquor cabinet’s in the living room downstairs. Are you coming or what?”

“Yeah, absolutely.”

 

~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~

 

Dennis does not feel bad. To feel bad he would have actually had to have done something wrong. What he did was have a very reasonable emotional reaction to a very emotional situation. Things get heated sometimes, so what? That’s life.

What he does feel is unsettled.

It’s just from being home again, he decides. It’s messing with his brain. He wanders from room to room for what feels like hours, wondering what it is that feels so wrong before realizing that it’s just the fact that nothing’s changed. His room in the same spotless state he left it in when he moved out, all the furniture in the same place in the living room, the sound of his parents shouting at each other as he walks past his father’s study.

He’s been gone for four years. He guesses he just expected some things would be different.

He can’t keep wandering around this weird ghost of his childhood but there’s nowhere to go. The snow’s already four inches thick outside and he’s very firmly ignoring the nagging urge to go back upstairs to find Mac. Not to apologize or anything irresponsible like that, but just to make sure he’d actually listened.

Instead, he finds the one place in the house he can isolate himself comfortably in. It’s a first-floor guest room, almost never used and furnished sparsely to match. It was a popular location for hide-and-seek when he and Dee were kids, and a popular location for the subsequent fights after one of them would accuse the other of cheating. Almost compulsively, Dennis checks to see if the dent that Dee’s head had made in the wall when they were nine is still there. Unsurprisingly, it is. Same old, same old.

He drops down on the bed, cringing as a cloud of collected dust rises up around him from the stiff white sheets. It must have been a decade since the last time anyone had actually slept in this godforsaken thing. He can’t imagine his parents are much in the habit of having guests over since he’s been gone. Even as a kid, the house had hardly been a social oasis. Normal people can only handle so many drunken screaming matches from the other room before they stop coming over.

That’s another thing this room had always been good for: hiding from their parents when things got a little too heated. Dennis and Dee, crouched on the floor behind the bed, listening to the sound of glass smashing outside and talking through scenarios where their parents could both miraculously die while they’re at school and the two of them would be adopted by a kindly couple (still rich, of course) who didn’t drink half a bottle of vodka and scream at each other for three hours. Fun what-if scenarios to take away some of the tension.

Dennis rolls over, tucks his arm under his head and tries to find some semblance of comfort on the stone-stiff mattress. He stares silently at the tiny window on the wall and can just make out the falling snow through the dirty glass. Maybe he could just stay like this for the night. If he stays here and Mac stays upstairs, then nothing can go wrong at all. They can leave in the morning when everyone else is still sleeping off their hangover.

Dennis isn’t sure when exactly he falls asleep. He seems to just drift into it with no resistance at all, staring out the window one moment and floating in a foggy dreamstate the next. His dreams flash by as a collection of vague images and sounds he can’t quite make out until he settles on one scene his brain understands.

His bedroom upstairs. Overnight bags piled on the bed. He’s fixing his hair in the mirror, incredibly focused, his whole body wound up tight with nerves. Why? Oh, because he has to go down for dinner in a few minutes, of course. Everything he’d been planning is so close to being real, he just has to make it happen. He straightens his tie. He smiles at his formless dream reflection.

“Hey,” someone taps his shoulder gently and he turns. It’s Mac, grinning broadly at him. He’s in one of Dennis’ nice shirts this time, not the ratty sleeveless tee he’d come in, and Dennis is glad he‘d finally made the decision to have him change. It looks much better this way.

“I hope you’re almost ready,” he says irritably, but this Mac doesn’t argue with him. Just smiles warmly and nods.

“Just about,” he says.

“Good.” Dennis tries to return his attention to the mirror but the sudden warm weight on either side of his body is distracting. He turns around as best he can with Mac’s arms practically pinning him against the dresser.

“Can I try something? Before we go,” Mac asks, almost shyly.

“Yeah,” Dennis says. Without a moment's hesitation, Mac leans in and carefully presses their lips together. It’s soft but not passionate, and after only a second or two he draws back.

“To make it more convincing,” Mac explains. He doesn’t make any move to let Dennis up from the awkward half-embrace he’s locked in.

“Right,” Dennis says, barely audible. “Do it again.”

In the real world, Dennis jerks awake, his brain a mess of confusion and half-remembered dreams that are already slipping away. He’s still in the guest room, still curled up on the brittle old mattress. Only now the sheets have been kicked into disarray and the sky outside is inky dark. He struggles to sit up, limbs stiff with bad sleep, and blearily checks his phone. It’s almost ten o’clock; it had been near seven when he’d come in.

He pads through the house in a daze, feeling like he’s still trying to wake up. He’s angry that he let himself fall asleep and miss so much time, time during which any _number_ of ridiculous things could have been happening, but try as he might he can’t find anyone to blame but himself. The revelation does nothing to ease his frustration.

The house seems mostly silent. The muffled arguing from earlier seems to have ceased completely. Earlier than usual for them. Maybe they’re getting old. He almost thinks everyone must have somehow fallen asleep when he hears voices from the living room. Too quiet to be his parents, too loud to be sober.

“Wait, you hear that?” A familiar voice asks, and Dennis rounds the corner in time to see Mac’s head pop up over the back of the couch. His once-gelled hair is in utter disarray and he is completely, disgustingly drunk. Enough that his whole face is flushed red.

“Dennis!” He calls cheerfully, turning his unfocused gaze on him. He scrambles unsteadily to his feet, nearly sending a half-full bottle of tequila on the coffee table crashing to the floor. He catches it at the last second, taking it with him as he practically bolts to meet Dennis at the door.

“What are you doing?” Dennis asks, wrinkling his nose as Mac steps far too close for comfort. He reeks of booze and the dopey smile plastered on his face somehow frustrates Dennis even more. “I told you to stay upstairs and you’re getting drunk off your ass in my living room?”

“Dude, you were gone _forever_ ,” Mac says, like that’s an explanation for whatever the hell Dennis just walked in on. He snickers and then a serious look comes over his face, like he just suddenly remembered something important. “Hey, hey, come here real quick,” he mumbles, as if they could possibly be standing any closer. He reaches up with an unsteady hand and rests it in the space between Dennis’ shoulder and neck.

“What are you-“ Dennis doesn’t get to finish because Mac lunges forward as kisses him _hard_.

Dennis staggers for a moment, gets his footing back and tries to force his brain to catch up with the circumstances as Mac continues to sloppily mash their faces together. It’s not a good kiss. Just on a technical level, probably one of the worst he’s ever had. It’s hardly even a kiss at all because Mac is _wasted_ , barely even able to keep his own footing and scratching up Dennis’ face with his stubble. His hand is hot against Dennis’ collarbone.

It’s either a few seconds or a few hours later when Mac finally pulls back, an absurdly pleased look on his face. “Had’ta prove your sister wrong,” he says, and giggles drunkenly. “Dude, you should see your face right n-“

“What do you mean, my sister?” Dennis interrupts, trying very hard to hold Mac’s stare and not do something entirely irrational like break his nose. He ducks past Mac, noticing for the first time Dee slumped in an armchair in the far corner of the room. She’s drinking something pinkish from a glass and staring at them both with confusion and amusement.

“Hey Dee,” Mac slurs, smirking, “my _boyfriend_ is here, see?”

“What the hell are _you_ doing here,” Dennis sputters, receiving an inebriated shrug in response. “Are you the one who got him drunk?”

“Lay off, boner, he got himself drunk,” Dee slurs, stretching out with a yawn. “He’s a big boy, he can take care of himself.”

He hears Mac laugh far too loudly behind him at this. Dennis is going to murder both of them when they’re sober, he swears to god. For now, he settles for snatching the bottle of tequila from Mac, setting it down by the couch before grabbing Mac by the arm and herding him toward the door.

“Hey, where are we going? Mac complains, digging his heels in.

“ _You_ are going to bed before you hurt yourself or break something you can’t pay for,” Dennis snaps. “And you,” he turns back to Dee, “are cleaning all this shit up.” He gestures to the mess of half-empty bottles, cups, and pools of spilled liquor on the coffee table. Dee snorts, flicking him off, and Dennis clenches his jaw so tight he can almost feel his teeth crack.

Mac lets himself be herded up the stairs and into Dennis’ bedroom in relative silence, and it’s the one thing that keeps Dennis from just letting him pass out on the floor and calling it a night. He doesn’t remotely trust Mac’s ability to get himself changed, just shoves him into the bed as-is: jeans and all. Mac tugs the covers lazily over half his body, watching Dennis pull off his own dress shirt with lidded eyes.

“Nice bod, dude,” he mumbles, and laughs. Dennis doesn’t dignify it with a response.

He pulls on a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, feeling a small amount of discomfort melt away for the first time all day. Every part of his brain tells him to leave and go sleep in one of the guest rooms, but he genuinely thinks Mac might smother himself to death or choke on his own vomit if he leaves him alone all night and he’s too tired to try to rationalize the concern away. Wordlessly, he flicks off the lights and climbs under the covers, leaving as much space as possible between their bodies as he can without falling off the mattress.

“G’night, dude,” Mac murmurs. Dennis says nothing and, somehow, Mac takes that as a cue to keep talking. “Your sister’s really weird, you know? Like, we got drunk and all she did was bitch about her life and stuff. It was funny as hell, it just got kinda old after awhile,” he shifts slightly and Dennis swears he’s closer now. “Hey, at least she actually _talked_ to me though. You just yelled at me and then, shit, I dunno, just dropped off the earth for a few hours or something.” He’s quiet for a moment. “You know, you’re kind of a dick.”

“Mac,” Dennis says, taking a very, very slow breath. “Is it at all possible we can talk about this in the morning?”

“Yeah, sure,” Mac says. It’s genuinely silent for one long moment before Mac asks, very quietly, “Are you mad at me, dude?”

Dennis sighs, squeezing his eyes shut. “For what?” He asks finally.

“Uh, I dunno,” Mac mumbles. “Getting drunk with Dee, I guess.” He pauses for a moment. “Making out with you.”

Dennis’ mouth is still stinging. He can still feel the imprint of Mac’s hand on his neck. “No,” he says. “I’m not mad at you.”

“Oh. Alright.” Mac says, and falls into silence. It’s quiet for real this time, lasting for several minutes, and Dennis thinks he might have actually fallen asleep. He’s halfway there himself when he hears, very softly, “Hey Dennis?”

“What now?” He murmurs, pressing his face as far into the pillow as he can.

“Are you gay for real?”

Dennis sighs. “No, Mac.”

“Oh,” Mac whispers. There’s a pause. “Well, I am.” He laughs softly at nothing, pulling the blankets tighter around him. “I’ve never told anyone that before, you know? But I am.” Beneath the drunken slur there’s a very real tremor in his voice that pulls Dennis fully back to consciousness.

“If it makes you feel better, I don’t actually care,” Dennis says after a beat of silence. Mac laughs.

“Yeah, it does, I guess. I don’t know.” There’s another long pause. “I guess it’s good then. That you’re not, I mean. It would have been weird that I kissed you if you were.”

“Hm.”

“Goodnight, Dennis,” Mac says for the second time, and he finally, finally means it. In a few minutes, Dennis hears his breathing even out softly. He lays awake and listens to the sound of it until, without noticing, he finally drifts off himself.

He’s not sure how much later he stirs awake, roused from empty dreams by some invisible force. It’s still dark out. Dennis has moved from the edge of the bed to the center, dragged there sometime in the night because Mac, as it turns out, sleeps like a koala. His arms around Dennis’ midriff, his chest against his back. He’s radiating heat like a furnace, and it would be stifling if it weren’t so cold out.

Dennis thinks about disentangling himself from the unconscious embrace. Dennis thinks about slipping silently from the bedroom, crawling into one of the guest beds and allowing himself a normal night’s sleep. Dennis thinks about all the things he could have done differently in his life to not be in this situation right now, wrapped in a cloying-tight drunken hug in his childhood bed.

Dennis lets himself fall back asleep.

  
~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~

 

“Well, look who finally decided to get up.”

Dennis glances at the clock as he rifles through the fridge. “It’s barely nine o’clock,” he argues, turning an irritated glare on Dee. She slips into one of the chairs at the table, a glass of orange juice in hand. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Like maybe puking up half a bottle of vodka?” If he ignores her hideously smudged makeup and effort to sit as far away from the light as possible, she doesn’t look nearly as hungover as she should be.

Dee snorts, lifting her glass. “This isn’t straight orange juice,” she says. “Besides, I was hardly even drunk last night compared to your weird clingy boyfriend up there. You’re gonna have a ton of fun with him once he wakes up.”

“Fantastic,” Dennis deadpans, pouring milk over a bowl of cereal.

“Hey, not my fault,” Dee says, as if Dennis had showed even the slightest interest in continuing the conversation. “I had to get him, like, dangerously drunk before he would shut up about you. I know there’s no way in hell you two are actually a thing but shit, give the kid some credit, he sure is acting like it.” She takes a sip of her juice. “It’s a little pathetic, honestly.”

“Dee,” Dennis says, sliding into the seat across from her, “I have had enough of Mac in the last twenty-four hours to last me a lifetime. Can we _please_ not talk about him right now?”

Dee raises her eyebrows. If it’s meant to be a question, she’s not getting an answer. “Sure, whatever,” she says finally, getting to her feet. “I’m making coffee. Do you want some or not?”

“Fine,” he sighs, stirring his cereal absently around in the bowl. Even as early as it is, the house seems uncharacteristically quiet. “Where’s Mom and Frank?”

“Hell if I know,” Dee says, digging a tin of coffee grounds out of the pantry. “Frank’s leaving on another business trip sometime today, so Mom’ll either make sure he can tell she’s refusing to see him off, or she’ll try to get more money out of him before he goes.” She leans back against the counter as the coffee starts to brew, arms crossed over the pink cottony material of her pajama shirt. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but hopefully work’ll call me in before they start up that shit.”

“What place had this misfortune of hiring you?” He asks. It occurs to him that, in the whole two years since they’d stopped seeing each other on a near-daily basis, neither of them really had any idea what the other was doing. Their phone calls to one another had gotten rarer and rarer, and less likely to happen sober, until they’d mostly just stopped.

“There’s a diner a few blocks away,” Dee says, pouring the coffee into mugs. “A real shit-house, but the owner owes Frank money or something. I’m on the payroll as long as I show up.”

“I’m sure you make a great waitress with an attitude like that, Sweet Dee,” he remarks, and she flicks him off but slides one of the mugs to him anyway.

“Right, because it takes so much finesse to serve burnt eggs to hungover truckers,” she retorts, sitting back down. “It’s all temporary anyway. I’m just saving up money until I have enough to get the hell out of here and never look back.”

“And go where, exactly?”

“New York, dumbass,” she looks at him like he’s an idiot before breezing on, “I got a bit of a late start but they say that’s good sometimes, you know? You spend some time roughing it out in the real world and it lets you bring so much more life to your character.”

“Are you-“ Dennis blinks, setting his coffee down, “Are you seriously still doing the acting thing?”

Dee eyes him warily. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You cannot be serious,” he says, almost laughing. “Dee, that was a ridiculous plan when we were in high school and it’s a ridiculous plan now. At some point you need to face the facts, and the facts are that you’ll never be able to amount to anything in New York. Except maybe another waitress.”

“Alright, okay,” Dee says, voice cool even as she clenches the mug in her hands until knuckles go white. “And what about you, genius? You came all the way down here to beg mommy and daddy for money, what are you going to do with it? Feed your budding alcoholism?”

“You,” he jabs a finger at her spiked juice cup, “are one to talk. And I already told all of you earlier what I’m doing.”

She gives him an absurdly unimpressed look. “What, the bullshit about following your old vet dreams? That’s not happening, Dennis, and you know it.”

Dennis bristles. “I’ll remind you that I’m the one here who actually graduated from one of the most prestigious-“

“I was there, Dennis,” she interrupts. “You had shit grades and your behavioral record was practically felonious. I’ll be an academy award winner before you even get _accepted_ into vet school.”

“You know what?” Dennis stands up, coffee and half-eaten corn flakes forgotten. “I don’t need this. I - I’m going to go upstairs, and pack, and go back home to my own apartment like an independent adult.”

“Call me when your life magically falls into place,” Dee says, and despite it all there’s a small smirk on her face. There’s a familiarity to this that Dennis doesn’t want to admit is almost comforting. God, none of them _have_ changed, have they?

“Oh I will,” he says, already halfway out the door. “Trust me, Sweet Dee, you’ll be the first one on the line.”

He pauses just long enough by the living room to see what disaster Mac and his sister made of it last night. Dee at least got around to putting the bottles and glasses away but he can still see tacky puddles of liquor on the tabletop, footprint marks on the arm of the couch from Mac’s boots. It’s unsettling, the idea of the two of them play-acting as friends, drinking like teenagers whose parents weren’t home. Talking about _him_.

The bottle of tequila he confiscated from Mac last night is still on the floor, he nearly kicks it over as he turns to go. It’s some of the decent stuff, the kind he hasn’t been able to afford in a while. Without thinking he grabs it, bringing it with him as he makes his way back up to his bedroom.

Mac is awake when he opens the door, though just barely. He’s curled in an oversized ball under the blankets and squinting painfully into the light the door lets in. “Dude,” he groans, pressing an arm over his eyes, “I think I’m dying.”

“Imagine that,” Dennis says, “your actions have consequences.” He reaches to turn on the lights but a miserable look from Mac stops him. He looks completely pathetic, and that’s the only reason Dennis decides to cut him some slack.

Mac groans, sitting up with what looks like tremendous effort. His hair is loose and sticking up at ridiculous angles, making him look like almost an entirely different person than the one who Dennis first met yesterday. His face is softer too, muscles slackened with sleep.

“We’re leaving soon,” Dennis says, quickly turning his gaze away. “If you’re going to puke, do it now. I don’t want us to have to pull over every ten minutes.”

Mac shakes his head. “Not happening, dude, I’ve got a stomach of steel.” The paleness of his face says otherwise but Dennis isn’t starting a fight about this of all things.

“Here,” he hands Mac the bottle of tequila, getting raised eyebrows in response. “To take the edge off at least.”

Mac, to his credit, doesn’t question it any further. He drinks straight from the bottle, wincing at the burn. “Shit,” he says, shaking his head, but his eyes are clearer after a moment. “What time is it?”

“Almost ten,” Dennis says. He drops down onto the bed next to Mac, taking the bottle from him. He’s not going to be the only one in the house not drinking when he’s the one who deserves to the most. Mac lets him have it with no resistence, looking suddenly lost in thought.

“I forgot to call Charlie at all last night,” he says. “God, he probably thinks you turned out to be a serial killer after all.” He nudges Dennis with a smirk.

Dennis rolls his eyes, tipping the bottle back to take a drink. “I don’t know who people are just because you say their names,” he says, voice hoarse with the liquor. He clears his throat self-consciously.

Mac’s eyes brighten. “Dude, Charlie’s the best. He’s my roommate. Best friend, blood brother, the whole deal. I’ve known him since we were, like, toddlers.” He flicks at a loose thread on the blankets, looking suddenly somber. “I was supposed to go with him for Thanksgiving. I think he’s still kinda pissed at me about it. I’ve been going to his mom’s for the holidays since we graduated, it was just kind of a tradition.”

“Where, uh, where did you go to school?” The words practically stick in Dennis’ throat, small talk like this unfamiliar and uncomfortable. He’s never found it particularly useful in speeding up the process of getting a girl to come home with him, so what was the point?

“Oh, Charlie and I went to St. Joe’s. You heard of it?” He pauses at Dennis’ expression, looking concerned. “You okay, dude?”

“Yeah, sorry, that’s just,” Dennis blinks, looking at Mac with newfound interest, “that’s where I went, too.”

“No shit!” Mac sits back, looking stupidly pleased. “I don’t think I remember ever seeing you, though.”

“No, I don’t either,” Dennis agrees after a moment. He can’t possibly imagine ever hanging out with anyone in Mac’s sort of group during high school, but he’s not sure how to say that respectfully. “I don’t think we were… in the same circles.”

Mac snorts. “You think? We stayed away from the rich kids, bro, they didn’t want anything to do with us unless it was bad.” He holds out his hand for the bottle of tequila and Dennis obliges. “It was fine though,” he mutters into the neck of the bottle. “Me and Charlie, we had a good time. And now we’ve got an apartment which is like, the ultimate best friend symbol.” He smiles slightly. “I can’t wait to tell him about this. He totally didn’t think this was going to work but who’s gonna be the one who can pay the rent this time, bitch?” Mac laughs.

Dennis shouldn’t have drank anything. He wouldn’t care if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t feel the uncomfortable twinge in his stomach that causes words to spill out before he can review them. “Mac, listen,” he says, and keeps his voice steady at least. “I’m not going to be able to pay you right away for this.”

Mac glances at him, laughing nervously at the grim look on Dennis’ face. “Dude, what?”

“I’ll pay you eventually, dammit,” Dennis snaps, a little too harshly. He turns away, stares firmly at the far wall. “Look, I’m on an allowance, I didn’t just get a bag of cash. I have rent to pay, I have shit to take care of, you know how it is. I’ll get you your money once I have it to spare.”

He chances a look back at Mac. He’s staring at him, either shocked or entirely uncomprehending. “But why would you tell me you’d pay me if you didn’t even have any money?”

“Well, I didn’t exactly expect things to go this way, Mac,” he replies shortly

“How _did_ you think this was going to go,” Mac presses, and Dennis digs his fingernails into the mattress.

“Well first of all, Mac, I didn’t really plan on bringing home a dude,” he snaps. Mac blinks, and tips his head slightly like a confused dog.

“So you wouldn’t pay me if I were a chick?”

“No, that’s not-“ He snaps his mouth shut, not wanting to explain that if Mac _had_ been a chick, she wouldn’t think payment were necessary at all after spending a night with him. In fact, _everything_ would have been so much easier if he’d been a girl. Things could have gone so smoothly if things, for once, could have just worked out the way Dennis had planned them to.

“Look,” Dennis says, still not meeting Mac’s eyes, “nothing’s going to change, so just drop it. Sometimes things don’t work out the way you want them too, and that’s just life, Mac.”

Mac is silent for a long moment, twisting his hands around the bottle in his lap. “That’s pretty messed up, Dennis,” he says finally. Dennis says nothing. A second later, he feels Mac press the bottle into his hand.

They pass it back and forth for a minute, not talking, not looking at each other. If Mac’s decided he’s going to sulk then Dennis will gladly sit in a stalemate from now until he’s dropped his off at apartment but inevitably, it’s Mac who breaks the silence.

“So,” he says slowly, sneaking a glance at Dennis like he’s checking if it’s okay. “What are you going to do once you go home? Now that you’re rich again and all.”

Dennis snorts. “Rich, yeah right. My dad’s too much of a cheap bastard for that.” He brings the bottle to his lips, notes with mild surprise how near to empty it already is. He sure as hell doesn’t feel drunk yet. Just… a little less tense. “I’m gonna fix my image,” he says to Mac. “I realized that’s the problem, ever since I moved out I’ve just let myself become indistinguishable from some pathetic, _average_ nobody. And simple people- you know, job interviewers, girls at a bar –they can’t be expected to recognize superiority if you don’t have an image to cultivate.”

“That makes sense,” Mac says, and Dennis glances sharply over for any sign of insincerity but Mac is just nodding, rapt.

“Of course it does,” Dennis says, but he allows himself a small smile; so this is what it's like to have someone who understands his wisdom. Not someone who wouldn’t know a plan for success if it hit her in the face. “All I have to do is reassert myself where I belong. Get some better clothes, go to nicer bars. And from there, the people I need will flock to me.”

“Right,” Mac says attentively, and Dennis feels a warm rush of satisfaction. He takes another drink and blames it on the alcohol.

“It’s like I said before,” he continues. “All I need to do is get back on the right track. Once I’m successful I won’t need anybody’s help. Sure as hell not _their_ help.” He doesn’t mean for it to come out as bitter as it does, and he loathes the almost concerned look that Mac gives him.

“Your family _is_ pretty weird, dude,” he agrees hesitantly, and Dennis laughs.

“Yeah, is that why you spent three hours getting drunk with my sister last night?”

Mac at least has the sense to look embarrassed. “Come on, dude, we were just messing around,” he says, staring at his lap. Dennis is struck by a sudden, intense curiosity as to how much of last night Mac actually knows about.

“What, you actually remember it? That’s impressive,” he scoffs, and Mac takes the bait immediately.

“Of course I do! Most of it, anyway.”

Dennis raises his eyebrows. “Yeah, and?”

Mac hesitates, looking uncertain. “Uh, well I remember Dee showing me, like, a shit-ton of alcohol. And she kept drinking, so I kept drinking, and I didn’t really feel like stopping.” He glances back at at Dennis and sighs at his prompting nod. “Shit, I don’t know, man. I remember you showing up and getting all pissed off for no reason.”

“And that’s it?”

Mac twists his hands together in his lap, firmly avoiding Dennis’ stare. Dennis already knows he remembers more, doesn’t know why he wants to keep pushing him to admit it. “Yeah, I guess that’s it,” he mumbles.

“You don’t remember anything else,” Dennis states flatly. He smirks. “Guess I was right, then.”

Mac whirls on him with a glare. “I remember you dragging me up the stairs!” He snaps. He drops his gaze again, chewing on his bottom lip. “I, uh, remember making out with you.”

“You do?” Dennis mutters. He’s the one who was so eager to hear Mac say it, but now the space between them feels wrong.

“I only did it to throw your sister off, dude,” Mac rambles, “I was _really_ drunk, and she kept bitching about how we totally weren’t a real couple or whatever, and I just thought - I thought -“ He shakes his head, frustrated. “I don’t know! You’re lucky she totally bought it anyway because you’re a really shitty kisser, dude.”

“What?” Dennis hates how easily he bristles at that. Mac is absolutely the _last_ person who should be saying that to him. “You do _not_ get to critique anything about my kissing skills when you were practically drooling on my face.” Dennis feels a prickle of satisfaction when Mac’s face flushes red.

“I was drunk, dude, come on -“

“Which is exactly why I don’t trust your judgement!”

Mac rolls his eyes. “I don’t need to be sober to tell you have no technique, bro.”

He’s deliberately fucking with him now. Dennis is better than this, he doesn’t need to rise to the bait.

“Mac, I have made out with more girls in high school than you probably have in your entire life,” he says, leaning in close and jabbing a finger in Mac’s stupid smirking face. “You don’t get to say a word to me about ‘technique’.”

“Alright, dude, I get it,” Mac laughs a little nervously. “What, are you going to show me?”

They’re incredibly close now, Dennis practically leaning over Mac and, alright, Dennis isn’t an idiot. He can see the look on Mac’s face, knows exactly what’s going to happen next if he doesn’t do what he should do and move far, far away.

“Yeah,” he says instead.

It’s not a hell of a lot different than the last time. Same overwhelming taste of booze on his breath, same uncomfortable scrape of stubble. The only difference is Mac is actually trying this time. He’s not a _great_ kisser, Dennis is absolutely not giving him more credit than he deserves, but it’s hard not to notice how much more tolerable it is when he’s not blackout drunk.

He pulls back after just a few seconds. Mac is _smirking_ , for god’s sake.

“What?” Dennis asks, scowling.

“Dude,” Mac snickers, “you kiss like you’re in a movie.”

“That’s not - What?” Dennis sputters, drawing back.

“You’re slow as shit!” Mac is fully laughing now, trying to sit up. Dennis shoves him back down by his shoulders.

“Fuck you,” he growls, “show you slow,” and kisses him again.

It’s okay for a little while because it’s like a game, just like everything else this whole visit has been. His scheme went according to plan, he’s a little bit buzzed on good tequila, and Mac is sliding a hand underneath the back of his shirt. None of it means anything anyway. He can run his hand through Mac’s hair and dig his fingers into the muscles of his arm and it doesn’t matter at all. It’s only after he hears a soft sound that definitely didn’t come from Mac that he starts to realize he might have lost some control over the situation.

He jerks back, breaking the kiss and furiously untangling their limbs. He’s not trying to be harsh, he’s just trying to make sure things don’t become something they’re not. Mac looks a little wounded anyway.

Dennis doesn’t know what to say, occupies himself with fixing his shirt. “We should go now,” he says finally, keeping his voice as steady as possible. “There’s no way the roads aren’t clear by now and I want to avoid as much traffic as we can.

“Yeah, alright,” Mac says quietly, slowly getting to his feet.

They pack in silence, and Dennis can at least be relieved that they didn’t bring a hell of a lot. He’s not deliberately ignoring Mac, it’s not like he should have any reason to anyway, but Mac stays quiet and Dennis doesn’t have anything to say to him. They’re ready to leave in only a few minutes.

“Here,” he says, breaking the silence finally to hand Mac his bag. “Go get the damn heat on in the van, I’ll be out in a minute.”

He’s hoping to slip out without having to deal with any sort of sendoff, and he nearly jumps when he hears footsteps behind him in the foyer. It’s only Dee, watching him with an unreadable expression.

“About time you got out of here,” she says finally.

“Trust me, I’m just as thrilled as you are,” he replies, turning back to the door.

“Hey,” she says, and he turns to see her hold a mug toward him. “You left your coffee earlier, asshole, and I’m not getting stuck cleaning up after you.”

“That’s because you’ve never once made decent coffee in your life,” he complains, but takes it anyway. “I’ll call you later to tell you how to make it right.” He doesn’t need to say it, won’t ever actually say it, but the message is still there: I’ll call you.

“Yeah, you’d better,” she snorts.

The ride home is exactly as insufferable as the ride over had been, Mac no better of a driver now that he has a quarter of a bottle of tequila in him. But the tensions from earlier seems gone almost completely, so Dennis bites his tongue every time Mac slams on the brakes six inches from the bumper of another car.

“So, I had an idea earlier,” Mac says as they skid to a halt in the never ending traffic. “You’re looking for something fancy to do to make money or whatever, right?” He glances at Dennis for assent, gets a hesitant look in response. Mac plows on anyway. “We - You should open a bar or something, dude. You’ll have tons of people you can impress, and everyone thinks owning a bar is cool as shit. Plus, you’ll need a bouncer then too, and you kinda owe me already, dude.” He turns to Dennis, eyebrows raised. “What do you think?”

Dennis looks carefully at the man beside him. He tries to imagine what it would be like to work with him, to see him everyday.

“I’ll think about it,” he says finally, and he has to look away from the huge grin that splits Mac’s face.

“Give me a call if you ever decide to do it, dude,” Mac says. “I think it’d be a great opportunity.”

“Yeah,” Dennis says, staring out the window as they slowly start to move again, “I will.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> And there you have it! My only regret is that I wasn't able to expand on the ending as much as I wanted to, but unfortunately deadlines are deadlines and sometimes you just gotta stick with what you've got. I sincerely hope you enjoyed it anyway! Thanks for reading!


End file.
